


Favorable Contributions

by TiamatsChild



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: mecha_erotica, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiamatsChild/pseuds/TiamatsChild
Summary: Knowing Beachcomber is fraught with peril. Embarrassing peril.





	Favorable Contributions

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the mecha_erotica community’s November 2008 Unloved Characters challenge. It took first place.
> 
> Originally posted on Livejournal, November 2008.

“I am never going on survey with you again,” Perceptor told Beachcomber, and wriggled on the cypress branch in an attempt to gain better purchase on the moss strewn bark. There was a small and delicate mean between the extremes of falling off and damaging the ancient tree, and Perceptor had no intention of either harming the magnificent flora or allowing himself to be harmed by the magnificent fauna ringing their refuge.

Beachcomber shrugged. His range of movement was constrained by his own grip on their branch, but there was no mistaking that shrug. “Sorry. This was a surprise.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Perceptor said. He sounded snappish even to himself, but he couldn’t get a good angle, and, like the gallant fool he frequently became around Beachcomber (it was contagious, he knew it was contagious), he’d given Beachcomber the spot next to the trunk, so he couldn’t lean against that for support. “Past experience should have predicted this outcome.”

“Even the cypress tree?”

Perceptor considered this. “Perhaps the exact species could not be determined before the fact, but its wide distribution in this region does make it a likely candidate.”

“They’re good and strong, too,” Beachcomber said, and leaned forward, tilting to look through his widely braced knees. Perceptor stiffened, and then promptly relaxed again when the shift in his posture made him wobble dangerously. “You know, I don’t think those alligators mean me any harm.”

“They don’t,” Perceptor said, “But in their enthusiasm…”

“Y’don’t think a simple ‘Sorry, ladies, I’m not father material, let’s be friends…’?” 

Perceptor couldn’t stop his small, short laugh. “I doubt it extremely.” 

Beachcomber ran a slow, deep air compressor cycle and kicked his feet. “Bit of a shame,” he said, “always wanted to make friends with an alligator. A whole tea circle’d be even better.”

Perceptor glared at him. “No one you meet ever wants to just be friends with you, you utterly unobservant – Really, I don’t know where you get the nerve to call yourself a scientist, anyone with half a working processor could notice more about the world than you bother to.”

Beachcomber made a small, hurt noise. “I’m a geologist, Perceptor. Rocks don’t have mating imperatives.” 

“Besides,” Perceptor continued, “you didn’t even know alligators existed until six months ago.”

“Always wanted to since I knew they existed, then. Aren’t they something?” Beachcomber was practically cooing as he leaned forward again, looking down to the confusion of eagerly observant alligators. 

Perceptor huffed. Beachcomber was going to fall, and then matters would get very messy very quickly, and Perceptor didn’t know what he’d do about it. Possibly nothing. 

…Well, no, he wouldn’t do _nothing_. He’d spent too many millennia dragging Beachcomber out of the stupid situations his impulsive tendencies got them both into to just do nothing. Allowing him to be accidentally mauled by lusty alligators would make all his past hard work wasted effort. 

“Sit back up,” he said, “you’re going to fall.”

“You know I won’t,” Beachcomber said, and flashed a brilliant grin at Perceptor. “I have very good balance.” Perceptor shook his head. “And,” Beachcomber continued happily, “I’m very flexible.” 

“Mm,” Perceptor said, “I’m sure the fauna you’re fawning over would love a demonstration.” 

Beachcomber laughed. “You really figure nobody I run into has pure intentions?”

“I’ve watched you,” Perceptor told him. “Believe me, _trees_ decide you would make a favorable contribution to their genetic lineage.” 

It was, Perceptor decided, completely unnatural and perverse to look that delighted at a revelation of this nature. “Really?” Beachcomber asked, and leaned forward again. “Huh.”

“Stop that,” Perceptor said, and risked letting one hand go to try and press Beachcomber back up into a better balance. He shook, and nearly lost his own balance, but Beachcomber moved, in that distressingly fluid, easy way he had when he wanted to, and caught Perceptor’s arm, steadying him, even as he rearranged his own position so that he was leaning against the trunk and one of his legs was neatly locked around the branch. 

“Easy,” Beachcomber said. “Hey, easy. I’m really not going to fall.” He gently tugged at Perceptor, trying to urge him closer. “Come on over here, and we can brace ourselves in the corner. More comfortable that way.”

“I am most certainly not having difficulty keeping my balance,” Perceptor told him testily, even as he edged carefully over across the branch. “It’s only that you are so intent on not staying still – ”

“I know, I know,” Beachcomber said. Perceptor did not appreciate the undertone of laughter in his voice. “But it’ll be more comfortable, and we might be here a while.” 

“You would have to have persistent suitors,” Perceptor grumbled, as he made it the final foot and Beachcomber slid his hand from Perceptor’s arm to his shoulder, trailing along the back of his neck and settling there, solid and kind. Perceptor leaned into him, despite his annoyance. 

“Mmmm,” Beachcomber said, which Perceptor suspected was less a reply to Perceptor’s comment, and more a response to the body contact. Perceptor tilted his head up to glare at his colleague – an unusual gesture, considering that their height difference ran quite the other way, but at the moment he was at a sufficiently oblique angle to require it. 

“You are enjoying this situation entirely too much.”

Beachcomber hummed. “Well. It is rather flattering.”

Perceptor let his head fall back down and made a small, disgusted noise. “Flattering.”

“You’re jealous.” Perceptor could _hear_ Beachcomber grinning.

“I most certainly am not!” Perceptor protested, “I have no need to be jealous of your hold over alligators. Besides, I have plenty of admirers of my own.”

“That’s true,” Beachcomber said, “For a few months there I thought you were going to trip over Bumblebee, he was following you around so close. Kept looking at you like you were a whole new ecosystem.”

Perceptor stiffened. “Really?”

“You didn’t notice?” Beachcomber’s voice was gentle and kind but also unmistakably amused.

“Of course I noticed,” Perceptor lied, “I just hadn’t realized you did.” 

“Ah. I did.”

“So you did.”

Beachcomber hummed again. Perceptor couldn’t really blame the alligators for reacting to that sound, as they went into a rapid, snapping jostle for position below them. It was very pleasant, although he was sure that he was in a better position to appreciate it, being as how he could feel the vibration from it passing into his shoulder and into the rest of his body. 

Perceptor stared very intently at the pattern of moss in front of them. If he could get a good enough light he could take a look at its molecular structure. 

“You know, there are lots of worse ways to spend an afternoon,” Beachcomber said, disgustingly calm. “It’s a nice day, this is one bang up tree, no one’s shooting at us, and when was the last time we were on survey together, anyway?”

“It was a lot more recently than it’s going to be the next time,” Perceptor told him, as he realized, once again, that Beachcomber was insane. “You notice that we are not actually surveying anything.”

“We _were_ surveying!” Beachcomber protested.

Perceptor huffed. “'Were' and 'are' are not the same. I wasn’t planning on wasting my entire afternoon being lazy.”

“Consider it a vacation enforced by unexpected variables in the experimental environment?”

“Now you’re merely making excuses.” 

Beachcomber chuckled, and traced an arc across the nape of Perceptor’s neck with his thumb. He probably meant the gesture to be soothing. It was soothing, but Perceptor had no intention of telling him so. He was impossible enough as it was. “Yes.”

Perceptor considered. Beachcomber widened the arc of his thumb, small circles gradually broadening to brush near Perceptor’s scope. “Well,” Perceptor said, tilting his head again to catch Beachcomber’s gaze, “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve taken a personal afternoon?”

Beachcomber grinned. “To the last second.”

“Hm, well,” Perceptor said, and rearranged his weight, briskly and neatly, so that he could lean in, bracing himself with his elbows on Beachcomber’s shoulders. It was a little precarious, but well worth it for the way Beachcomber lifted his hand to steady himself against the tree. “I believe you will need to restart your count. We cannot have inaccuracies in the data you _do_ choose to keep.”

“Mmm,” Beachcomber said, and the angle of his head when Perceptor pressed in those last few millimeters to kiss him was as indisputably perfect as he wasn’t. “Yes.”


End file.
